Down to My Soul (Soul Series Book 2) (25 page)

“Is there something I should know?” My voice drops, not because I’m discreet, but because the thought of her keeping something critical from me, still not trusting me, sobers the hell right out of me. “San?”

For a minute, our eyes connect, and there’s no doubt in my mind there is something I should know. I hope he’ll tell me, but someone in a white lab coat a few feet up the hall calls his name.

Our eyes stay locked for an extra second before he tips his head in the direction of the doctor.

“I think we got some news,” he says. “Let’s go find out.”

I set my bad feeling aside long enough to focus on whatever the doctor can tell us.

“I’m Dr. Wells.” He looks at me, recognition and curiosity flickering in his eyes, before he turns his attention back to San. “I understand you’re Ms. Pearson’s next of kin?”

“Well, she doesn’t really have any kin, but I’m her emergency contact,” San says. “Ruthie, the closest she’s got to family, should be here soon.”

That reminds me we still need to make arrangements for Aunt Ruthie’s flight. I fire off a quick text to Bristol asking her to charter something to Georgia. I’m giving her details, but the doctor’s words to San pull me into their conversation.

“Did you say pneumonia?” I demand of the doctor. “Kai has pneumonia?”

He looks at San questioningly, silently asking if it’s okay to share information with me.

“I’m her—”

“Friend,” San cuts in over me. “Rhys and I are both Kai’s friends. She doesn’t have any blood left, so we’re all she’s got. You can talk freely to him.”

My teeth grind against each other, frustration like a keg of dynamite in my belly, ready to blow at the slightest spark.

“Mr. Gray, right?” Dr. Wells glances down at a chart in his hands. “Yes, Ms. Pearson has pneumonia.”

“Dammit.” I remove my Dodgers cap, slapping it into my palm. “I should have pushed about that cough.”

“Cough?” A frown draws Dr. Wells’ silvered brows together. “Any other symptoms you noticed?”

“I mean, she’s been on a pretty grueling tour, so I assumed the fatigue was because of that.”

“I’m sure it was,” Dr. Wells agrees. “But her body was trying to fight this with very few weapons.”

“A fever, too,” I add. “Ella, her makeup artist, said she had a fever earlier, but went on anyway.”

“She still has a fever.” Dr. Wells looks between San and me, his expression grave. “Pneumonia is a serious infection. It’s in her lungs, and her body is in no shape to fight it very well. We’re trying to get the fever down now.”

“But she’ll be okay, right?” Concern shadows San’s face. “I mean, people have pneumonia all the time. She’s young and healthy.”

“She is both, you’re right.” Dr. Wells nods, but a frown bends over his eyes. “But it’s been complicated by exhaustion and dehydration. Had she not been on tour, it may have been detected sooner. She probably wouldn’t have pressed through or missed the signs. An already compromised immune system, an incredibly rigorous schedule, not enough rest. It just all came together in the worst way, but she’ll be fine soon. We’ve started a round of antibiotics. We’ve actually sedated her because the best thing she can do for her body right now is rest.”

“Can I see her?” I rush to assure him because I see hesitation on Dr. Wells’ face. “Not to disturb her or wake her up. I just . . . can I see her?”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” John Malcolm says from his position in front of the room I assume is Kai’s, flanked by a security guard on both sides.

I hadn’t noticed him, but now that I see him, before I have time to check it, rage bursts in my head, popping all my caution, propelling me forward, hands already ahead of me and clawing for John Malcolm’s throat. I slam him into the wall, his head hitting with a satisfying thud.

“Motherfucker.” I dig my forehead into his until it probably hurts me as much as it hurts him, my words landing on his fat, jowly face in angry pants. “You did this to her. You wore her down to nothing overworking her.”

San and one of the security guards pull at me until Malcolm’s free, slumped against the wall, holding his throat and gasping for air.

“Get him out of here!” he spits, anger shaking his red face.

No one moves. I’m not in disguise anymore, and everyone here knows exactly who I am.

To her.

Nobody’s kicking me out.

“If anyone’s leaving, it’ll be you.” I pin him to the wall with a glare. “I hold you responsible for this, Malcolm.”

“She’s a professional and an ambitious artist.” Malcolm coughs, my fingerprints still vibrant against his neck. “She knew what she was getting herself into.”

“She has pneumonia.” I fire back. “She’s exhausted. You pushed her past her limits.”

“My job is to stretch her limits. It’s what will make her great.” He smears a nasty grin across his face. “Not that it’s any of your business. Why are you even here?”

“You know why I’m here, you slimy piece of shit. She’s done with you.” I twist my arms out of the hands holding me back and point to him. “You hear me? Done.”

“I have a contract with her that tells a different story. At least for the next two years.”

Before they can stop me, I step back into his space, close enough to drill my anger into him. San reaches for me again, but I shake him off.

“You honestly think your little contract can stop me?” I turn my voice down to deadly quiet.

“I know it can.” The facsimile of his smile falls away. “But it won’t come to that because Kai and I have an understanding, which is more than you have with her anymore.”

“If you could both put your dicks away for a second,” San says, irritation stamped on his face, “maybe Dr. Wells can tell us what’s next.”

I don’t wait for the doctor to volunteer any more information than he’s already given us. I know what’s next.

“I need to see her,” I tell him. I’m really trying not to be the dictatorial jackass that I know I can be, but every cell in my body aches to be on the other side of the door Malcolm’s two goons still stand in front of.

“Technically, you’re down as her emergency contact,” Dr. Wells says to San, not looking me in the eye. “Would you like to see her first?”

If San says yes, I’ll choke him. I suspect he knows that. His eyes flick back to mine, and for a moment I think, just to put me in my place, he’ll try to go first. I set my pride aside long enough to silently plead with him. He rolls his eyes, quirking his mouth to the side before shaking his head.

“Nah, Rhyson can go.”

“She’s my artist,” Malcolm says. “I think I should—”

“Fuck you.” I give Malcolm one last glare as I shove past him and the goons to enter Kai’s room.

It’s dark and quiet and empty, except for a nurse jotting down notes on the chart at the foot of Kai’s bed.

And except for Kai.

She’s asleep in the large bed, the simple hospital gown at odds with the heavy stage make up she still wears. The false eyelashes rest on her cheeks, which are gaunter than even a month ago. The blush and eye shadow seem too ornate for this stark room, for this smaller audience of just the nurse and me.

“Mr. Gray, she’s resting.” The nurse hangs her chart on a hook at the foot of the bed. “We need her to stay that way.”

“Understood.” I plant myself in the seat beside her bed, swallowing fear at how still she is. “She’s okay?”

“Very tired. She needs a lot of rest, lots of fluids, but once the antibiotics kick in, the infection in her lungs should start to clear soon.”

The nurse walks to the door, turning to give me one last instruction.

“Just don’t wake her. Sleep will help her recover better than anything else.”

Don’t wake her. I can manage that. After the fight it’s taken to find her, to get to her, it feels anti-climactic to just sit here and wait for her to wake up. I feel pretty damn helpless. This feels completely useless to her, but for me, it’s everything. Seeing the steady rise and fall of her chest. Knowing she’s going to be okay. Getting to hold her small fingers between mine on the sheets, it’s everything.

She’s everything.

Seeing her crumble to that stage only solidified that. She’s the one thing in my life worth protecting. All the money, the fame, the career, my ambitions—it can all go to hell.

This—she—is the one thing I must have. The one thing I must keep.

“MAMA, GET UP.”

I don’t say it loud enough to wake her. I just have to say it. She hasn’t left the bed in two days. Not since Daddy left. No one told me he’s gone, but I know. Even if I hadn’t overheard Aunt Ruthie talking about it, even if I hadn’t heard Mama crying, I would know. The house is too quiet. His big laugh isn’t filling every room at once. There’s a certain way he clears his throat when he’s studying, and I haven’t heard it in days. His office is empty, his Bible left open to the last passage he taught me about a deep love.

He’s never missed a recital because he loves to see me dance, but for the first time, he wasn’t there. I didn’t know until the end when Mama met me backstage, wearing her worry face, as Daddy always called it.

“Where’s Daddy?” I had looked past her and all around at the other girls whose mamas were taking pictures of them in their tutus and ballet slippers.

“He must have gotten held up at the church.” Mama grabbed my hand and started toward the exit.

Only he hadn’t come home for supper. And when I went into their bedroom, their closet door stood open, half the space empty where his clothes had been.

He’s gone. And Mama’s gone, too, even though she’s huddled under the covers.

A noise from the kitchen makes me jump. A door closing and heavy steps.

Daddy!

It has to be. He’s back. He’s come home. Mama can get out of bed and cook dinner. I’ve had nothing but cereal for the last two days. Everything can go back to the way it was. I rush to the kitchen, smiling ‘til my eyes squinch at the sides. I round the corner, ready to throw myself up and into his big arms.

Only it’s not him.

I skid to a stop at the kitchen door. Aunt Ruthie hangs her coat over the chair at the table and pulls off her work boots, the ones she uses to go out in the garden. She drops a bushel of collard greens into the sink.

“You remember how to clean greens, Kai Anne?” Her voice is quiet, her eyes sadder than I’ve ever seen.

“Yes, ma’am.” I drag one of the chairs over to the sink and climb up onto it.

She reaches into the drawer, searching through the utensils until she finds the dullest knife.

“You remember how we cut ‘em off the stem?” She hands me the knife. “Be careful with that.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I bite my lip, not wanting to ask the question. Not wanting to be a bother. “Am I going to dance class today?”

Aunt Ruthie frowns, her eyes going to the door.

“Where’s your mama?”

“Um, she’s still in bed.”

Her eyes get narrow.

“How was school today?”

“I didn’t . . . I didn’t go to school.” I look down at the dull knife in my hand. “I stayed here. How was church Sunday?”

For the first time in all my years, we didn’t go to church on a Sunday. We’ve never missed except for snow. Once I was sick and I still went. Mama said Jesus died for the sick and the weary. I was sick and she was weary, so we were both dragging ourselves to church. Mama never wanted to miss one of Daddy’s sermons. And even though we missed church, she didn’t miss his sermon. Because for the first time, Daddy missed church, too.

Where is he? The idea that he actually left us, left me, is too big for my head, so I just start cutting leaves off the stem in the sink.

“Don’t you worry about church for a while now, Kai Anne.” Aunt Ruthie rubs my hair, straightening out one of the glittery bows still in my hair from Saturday’s recital. “Did you take your bath last night, child?”

“No, ma’am.” I shake my head. I haven’t had a bath since right before Saturday’s recital. Not since Daddy left.

Her eyes drift over to the table where my box of Fruit Loops is still open on the table.

“What’d you have for lunch, honey?”